


turn another page

by sabinelagrande



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Agnes Nutter's Prophecies, Bad sex to good sex, Dom Anathema Device, F/M, Femdom, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Light Dom/sub, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Sub Newton Pulsifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 19:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19933057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: Anathema's life goes on, with subtractions and additions.





	turn another page

On the first page, Anathema would have read:

**_Know ye that these words are given into your care, oh ye cunning Devices, oh ye new Pulsifers, and so shall ye show to the generations that_ **

but she didn't. Instead, those words curled into flame on a surprisingly romantic afternoon, reduced to ash in moments. So did Agnes's remaining legacy, but Anathema couldn't shake the idea that Agnes had to have known. If her sight didn't extend past the Apocalypse, the book was useless; if it did, she knew that Anathema would destroy the manuscript.

Anathema watched the pages burn, and after Newt had carefully doused the fire and stirred the ashes, she lay back, looking up at the clouds. She didn't feel free, exactly, more like she was unmoored, floating, treading water in a vast ocean of possibilities.

Newt lay down beside her, and she put out her hand; it only took him a few moments to realize why and lace their fingers together. "What will you do now?" she asked, before he could ask her the same thing.

"I am a very good Witchfinder," Newt said. "I could lead a whole division."

"You'd have more finders than witches," Anathema said.

"That's the trouble," he said. He squeezed her hand. "Anyway, one witch is plenty, I think." He put his other hand behind his head. "I've thought about learning a trade."

"What kind of trade?" she asked.

"I think I'd like to be a carpenter," he said. "It sounds rewarding, and you wouldn't have to sit at a computer all day long, if at all."

"Something low tech would probably be for the best," Anathema said.

"And you?" Newt asked, because she hadn't stalled him well enough.

She sighed. "I'd never have to work a day in my life if I didn't want to," she admitted. "Agnes saw to that. But I think I'd like to own a store."

"What kind of store?" he asked.

"An occult shop," she said. "I could sell books and supplies and give advice. Witchcraft is very popular right now, and it would be nice to point people in the right direction."

What she thought, but didn't say, was that it would be just the thing to have some hand-carved Goddess statues or turned offering bowls or dovetailed altar boxes on her shelves. It wasn't quite fair. It was in her nature to organize her life exactly, and it was so easy to fit Newt into it, place him where he needed to be without asking if he wanted to be there. 

That might be how it always was; she might call the shots for good. That didn't mean she could do everything without his permission, just drag him along behind her.

"You could do with some nice wooden statues," he said, and Anathema wondered why she'd been worried, when Newt wasn't.

\--

In the first volume, Anathema did read:

_**When the flesh of a man be weak, thou must make thy hand firm and strong, so that thou may mold him to a purpose most desiréd. By this ye shall find the completion ye seek.** _

but over the centuries, certain of the descendants had made a category just entitled "Good Advice" where the things that were so broad they couldn't be said to mean anything or not mean anything. They were so relevant that they were irrelevant, so they were just lumped together with the other things that seemed like good things to bear in mind.

This is Agnes we're talking about, so every single one of them was hooked to a specific event, including some of the world events that left the descendants scratching their heads, combing the book retroactively for any sign. It's just that the event Agnes was actually talking about was something Anathema's predecessors were better off not knowing about.

Newt's inexperience wasn't a dealbreaker; Anathema wasn't ridiculously experienced herself or anything. He had certain physical attributes going for him that upped his game, and he was very eager to figure all of it out. But that was the thing: he was figuring it out, and he was figuring it out on top of Anathema, and it wasn't working.

Anathema tried not to get annoyed, but she was annoyed anyway. Newt really was doing his best up there, but she suspected he wasn't enjoying it either. He had an uncomfortable look on his face, and all of this was going to blow up in about thirty seconds if no one did anything.

Frustrated, she grabbed him by the hair and tugged. His breathing hitched, his body going still, so she pulled harder.

"I'll do whatever you want," Newt said, panting.

She almost let him go, taken aback by it, but she couldn't. He looked too good like that, open and honest and entranced by her, and the thrill of power that went through her was nothing like she'd ever felt.

"Up," she said, letting him go so she could push him away. He only went as far as his knees, sitting there like he was waiting to be told, like he wouldn't dare do anything without her say-so. She pointed. "On your back."

Newt did as he was told, as quickly as he could, and Anathema swung a leg over his hips. "Convince me I should keep doing this with you," she said, and it sounded meaner than she intended.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and it didn't seem out of place at all. He sat up, enough so that he could kiss her neck, her collarbone; she bit her lip as he took one of her nipples into his mouth, grazing his teeth over it in that way that was almost too much and almost too good. She was rapidly forgiving him for earlier, but nothing about it made her want to relinquish the hold she had over him.

His big hands found her back, and she pulled one of them away from her, leading it to her cunt. He got the picture immediately, fingers rubbing circles on her clit.

"Too hard," she said, though she'd been letting it slide all evening.

He pulled his face away from her breast, the pressure of his fingers decreasing. "Like this, ma'am?"

"Right there," she said, when he hit it right. "Just like that. Keep doing that until I tell you to stop."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, though it came out sort of muffled, because Anathema grabbed him by the hair again and put his mouth right back where it was.

She let her head drop back as she let him work; it turned out he could be convincing when he needed to. It wasn't long before she missed the feeling of her inside of him, more than ready to try the whole thing over again. He was still hard against her, and she wasn't just going to let it go to waste.

"Hold still," she said, pushing his hand away so she could take his cock in her own, holding it steady. She shoved him with her other hand, knocking him onto his back. "You let me drive. Just keep up."

"Anything you want, ma'am," he said, his hands running up her thighs.

She braced herself against his chest and started to ride him; she was a little too gone to be slow about it, which was a vast improvement. Newt settled his hands on her hips, guiding her as she moved faster, keeping her secure while she pushed herself to the edge. The way he was moaning, his hips rocking up to meet hers, Newt was as turned on by this as she was. 

She didn't need either of those things. She could read it in his face, how he stared at her open-mouthed like she was some kind of goddess come to give him her favor; she could read it in his aura, bursting out from him in deep pinks and reds and greens, like a rose blooming all at once. There was no hiding from her like this, but he wasn't even trying.

Anathema neared the edge quicker than she thought; she pressed her fingers above where they joined, rubbing her clit quickly. "Come with me," she said, and he nodded, panting, moving faster inside of her. Suddenly it was just there, that seemingly extended moment just before it hit, that torturous second before she shook apart, coming hard around him, feeling it as he came too, right there with her, less than no space separating them.

It passed over her in waves, but when it finally receded, she was still there on top of him, and they were just sort of staring at each other. They couldn't go back from that; it felt too good. This was a whole different thing than it was yesterday, and they were just going to have to move on from here.

He helped her climb off him, tossing the condom in the trash before giving her one of his arms to rest her head on. They didn't speak for long minutes, and Anathema just couldn't decide what to say.

"You, um, you haven't done anything like that before, have you?" Anathema asked delicately, even though she knew the answer.

Newt shook his head. "I've seen some things in magazines," he said, sounding a little guilty. He hesitantly added, "Did you like it?"

"Yeah," she said, maybe a little too fast. "Did _you_ like it?"

"Oh, yes," he said with a sigh. "You can do that to me any time you like."

"I just might," she said, and he smiled at her, a little hesitant but still bright. She couldn't help mirroring it, and he pulled her closer, kissing her forehead.

\--

In the second volume, Anathema never read:

_**And the joiner shall join, and the witch shall ride, and the fruit of the Apple will provide. They who look have found, they who look have lost, but yea, ye shall be forgiven, Anathema.** _

but by now, Anathema thinks about other books. They're not the only thing she sells, not by a long shot, but she has fun selecting everything for her store. Some of it is reputable, some of it is less so, but it does her good to send people along the right path. Sometimes that path involves self-published books with wolves on the cover, but it can't be helped.

A weird number of people come in saying Mister Fell sent them; they usually complain about him and demand to know if she actually sells her books to people, but she's always happy to take their money.

At the beginning, the shop was neatly separated between occult items and fine wooden goods, but it didn't last. Now they bleed into each other, runestones displayed on an inlaid end table, a wooden statuette holding up a stack of books. They get some well-dressed furniture shoppers in who are deeply confused, but the quality of the woodwork tends to win them over.

They do not make enough money for the space they're in, but it so happens one of the owners is a multimillionaire, so it's fine.

And if you were at the right angle at the right time, perhaps if you lingered in the store or just didn't turn your back when the owners thought your back was turned, you might catch them in a moment together. You'd be forgiven for thinking that Anathema has the upper hand; you'd be forgiven for thinking that Newt rolls right over for her; you'd be forgiven for thinking that neither of them minds.

You'd be forgiven for thinking that because you'd be right.

You wouldn't be forgiven for thinking it was anything but exactly what it needed to be.

(In the second volume, Anathema also never read:

 ** _When thou wouldst the quickening prevent, seek not the aid of the physic to fight the animalculae, lest thy fallow fields be fertile ere their time._**

but that's another story. In fairness, Agnes also didn't want her to read it.)


End file.
